


Because Falling is Just Too Clean

by groaninlynch (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/groaninlynch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't exactly falling in love.<br/>More like accidentally tripping and flailing headlong in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because Falling is Just Too Clean

It was during a perimeter run one night. The moon was waning away into nothingness, fading into the black infinity of the sky. There were clouds lingering from a recent storm, masking the stars. It was drizzling.

The ground hadn't quite recovered from all of the rain, and the muddy state of it made it hard to keep up. I stumbled along like a bull in a China shop that had a keen interest in China and desperately feared to break anything. It made me wonder why I was even brought along.

Not that I minded. I just don't like to be reprimanded for things that weren't my idea in the first place (or even if they were).

I guess it was for back-up, in case they got jumped. I wasn't told specifically what it was that we were on the look-out for. That was strictly on the need-to-know, a level of involvement I wasn't like to be granted any time soon.

But it's always nice to be considered useful and to be able to live up to that. We did get jumped. Whatever it was moved too fast to see (at least for my human eyes). Scott bent down into a crouch before shooting out like a torpedo. I got my back against a tree to avoid a flanking attack that I would have had no hope of avoiding and started digging around in my bottomless bag of knick-knacks and doo-dads. I waited to be signaled.

Someone called my name, tearing through the sound of rustling leaves and feral growls. I threw what I needed to on the ground, aimless. Blue sparks danced along the dirt, snapping and exploding and spiraling into the misty air. There was a cry like a man getting the wind knocked out of him. The movement stopped, and the forest fell into still quiet.

I saw his eyes before the rest of him came into focus in the dark: angry red, bright and flaming. There was a long streak of blood on his cheek. His blood or not, I didn't know. He stopped in front of Scott and looked him over and asked, "Are you okay?"

It wasn't even to me that he spoke, but nevertheless it all hit me in that moment. Everything, all at once. Everything about him.

Very quietly and very privately in the middle of the forest, I fell in love.

 

xxx

 

This was a very different affair than it was with Lydia. First of all, he may be, arguably, more intimidating than she is (though I would never say that to her face). That has nothing to do with his supernatural state of being, and more just because he's _him_. He could probably scare the Force right out of Emperor Palpatine with only a glare. It makes me incredibly thankful with each nailed bad guy that he's on our side and therefore less likely to kill me (even if the possibility isn't entirely ruled out).

Second, he had been hanging around me and mine for a while, had countless opportunities to ditch us, and didn't. This led me to believe that he genuinely liked being around us -- or maybe just Scott. But Scott and I are a package deal, buy-one-get-one-free, even if you don't want the freebie. And despite the added baggage that is my existence, he still stayed. Lydia still has a little bit of reluctance with being with us. It's obvious, even if she tries to make it less so.

Third, and definitely the most important, this wasn't any delusionary childhood crush. I did not have any kind of false presumptions when it came to him. Mostly. But the things that I presumed were bad things that were proven away by how good he is, things that I learned. With Lydia, I picked the most beautiful, unobtainable girl that I could, and built her up in my mind to be something that she wasn't and couldn't ever be. I did this to let myself down easy, easier than she would have.

With him, everything is presented at face value, take it or leave it. He doesn't pull punches and doesn't ask for acceptance. He just is. And it's scary, and terrible, and I hated him for making me feel so _beneath_ him.

Then I realized he made me want to be better, to be his equal, something almost as unobtainable as Lydia (as him). And that felt even worse.

 

xxx

 

I'm an obsessive person by nature, which can be good when it comes to researching. Not so much when it comes to people. But it's not something that I can turn off. So I obsessed over him.

Granted, I'd been doing a little of that ever since the house fire;  how could I not? Mysterious fire kills entire family, two surviving children disappear next day! This was only revitalized when Scott and I ran into him. He was spooky and interesting and really, really hot. A gold mine.

It got to a different level after I tripped into my feelings for him. Before, I'd wanted to know about him, his family, his story with Kate. After, I _needed_ to know. More than that, I needed all facets of his personality, every single thing he'd ever liked or disliked. I needed to know that because I needed to know how I fit in. How I fit into him.

What sucked was the hesitation I developed concerning him. If I thought or question came to mind, I would have just blurted it out and suffered the consequences later. But something changed. I started to obsess over my obsession; _is it wrong to ask?_ I would wonder, _should I not say anything?_ I became very stupidly aware of his opinion of me, which wasn't, I imagined, very high. Still, that was better than total disgust, right? Obviously. So I had to do everything to make sure it never reached that rock bottom point.

This resulted in weeks of bitten-off questions and tongue-tied responses.

 

xxx

 

After a little more than a month of second-guessing everything I said and almost said to him, Scott spoke up during an after-school homework session at my house. He sighed loudly, like what he was mulling over caused him a lot of pain and distress, closed his history textbook, looked me straight in the eye and told me, "Dude, you've been such a dumbass lately."

Not an altogether new sentiment.

"Not in the usual way." Scott shook his head and sighed again in that exaggeratedly world-weary fashion. "And it's just around _him_."

I had no idea what Scott was talking about (even though I knew exactly what he was talking about).

Because I hadn't said a word about it to Scott. He was the guy's beta, and anyway, it was just weird to be holding a torch (more like a goddamn volcano) for the most terrifying person to ever walk on this plane of existence. How was I supposed to admit that kind of thing to Scott, best friend or not? So I didn't.

"I thought you were over being afraid of him," Scott went on with a frown and a crease in his forehead. "You know he'd never hurt you. I'd never let him."

I was fully aware of that fact, though it was more likely for Scott to "not let him" than it was for him not to be so inclined in the first place.

The frown deepened past concern into disapproval. "I don't know why you think he hates you or whatever."

How could he _not_ hate me? Or at least really strongly dislike me? Hint: he couldn't. Because he did.

"He _doesn't_! Man, you can be so freaking stupid." Scott groaned and roll his eyes, and I did the same back to him.

Whatever.

"Yeah, whatever," Scott mumbled. We went back to our homework and got a good chunk of it done before he all but blurted, "He's actually kind of concerned, y'know."

Who was?

"You know _who_ , jackass."

I snorted. As _if_. As if big bad alpha gave a shit about me. Loud. Obnoxious. Useless. _Human_.

"You're more than that to him," Scott muttered, staring down at his book.

To _who_? I didn't have wolf ears, I couldn't hear properly when things were mumbled and grumbled.

"To us," Scott clarified. "Anyway, stop being so dumb. You're really worrying everyone, okay."

Easier said than done.

 

xxx

 

I did try to stop being flustered all the time. To fall back into my old, unpredictably crazy self around him. But having to consciously remind myself to quit over-thinking everything only made me over-think it even more, which made me get flustered, which made him glare at me, which made me even _more_ flustered. I was in a constant state of red-faced fumbling. It was horrible and embarrassing. I was used to not having real control over my body and what it did, but this was ridiculous.

The worst moment came one afternoon as we were gathered in the warehouse for a training session. I was watching him from where I sat on a raggedy couch as he fought Erica and Isaac. As he dodged an over-head swipe from Isaac, his gaze fell on me. He was blazing with excitement and focus. I felt my face heat up as I looked away and ran a hand over my scrubby hair. So fucking _stupid_. God.

I almost missed the mockery of love that I felt for Lydia. At least then, I didn't actually care what she thought about me since I already resigned myself to never getting her, so I could act myself with her. Goddammit. _This_ was bullshit. Making me want to shape myself around him, to be something he'd want, to be _enough_.

My head snapped up at the sound of a yelp and a skidding fall. He was laying flat on his back, Erica and Isaac worriedly hovering. I was quickly was on my feet, but not as quick as he was.

His glare froze me as I started to walk over to him, my thoughts of _have to go make sure he's okay_ warred with _of course he's okay dumbass he's built like a fucking tank_.

"You have to go," he said.

Go? Who? Where?

" _You_ ," he said to me. " _Home_."

Why?

"You're distracting. Go."

Several aborted sentences flung themselves at him as he turned his back. Erica and Isaac seemed as shocked as I was.

Eventually, helplessly, I left. My thoughts of _you should have left without asking questions_ warred with _you should have stayed_ _and talked to him_.

No matter what, I would always make the wrong choice to him.

That night, I ruined myself with Oreos and marshmallows. My dad walked in, took one look at me, and asked, "Finally ask out Lydia?"

I almost laughed. No, no I didn't. I didn't like _Lydia_ anymore.

"Well," Dad scratched his head, "that's a good thing, isn't it?"

No.

It was the problem.

 

xxx

 

The school year was winding down. Graduation was creeping closer, and would soon pounce on us, unsuspecting, unwilling, unprepared. We were all counting down and yet we would all still be so surprised when it happened.

Things in an alpha-related context had gotten marginally better. I still blushed and bumbled my way through conversations, but at least they were that: conversations. It was almost like it was Before. Almost. He was a little more forgiving, less quick to get annoyed with my awkwardness.

It was doubtful that he hadn't figured out why I was so totally stunted around him by this time. It was a mercy that he didn't say anything.

He was the only one, though.

After Scott mentioned it that first time, he'd brought it up again during lunch, which is a _really_ bad time to talk about anything that should _not_ be talked about thanks to the extreme concentration of people with super-hearing. But he did anyway. He said, "So. About--"

I didn't want to hear it. I knew what he was going to say, openly admitted that I knew what he was talking about this time, and _didn't want to hear it._

"We have to talk about it."

Here's a twist: we didn't. We _really, really_ did not.

"Don't be such a wuss." Scott rolled his eyes. "It kind of sucks that I had to, like, figure it out on my own since you didn't say anything to me."

Which I was sorry for, him being my best friend and number one confidant and all. But some things were better _left alone_.

"I mean, I get why you didn't wanna say anything." Scott shrugged. "It is a little weird that you like--"

 _Wow!_ Did he _not_ know when to shut up? Apparently! I supposed me suddenly developing a filter meant that Scott had to lose his, just to balance things out in the universe.

"Dude, it's not a big deal. It seriously isn't. Because--"

I didn't care about any _because_. I didn't want to talk about it.

"Can't you just _listen_? He--"

I put my head on the table. I put my arms over my head. I sighed. I didn't want to hear anything about him. I couldn't. It wouldn't change a damn thing.

Scott was silent. Then I felt a warm hand on my arm, and heard him softly give in with an, "Okay."

 

 

Isaac and Erica teamed up against me a week after that in the parking lot, with Boyd standing behind them like a bodyguard. Looking at the three of them with their matching leather jackets and faces of distanced superiority, I had the distinct feeling that I was about to get jumped.

"Not jumped in the traditional sense," Erica told me as she walked closer. I stood my ground and crossed my arms.

What did they want? More importantly, why did I care? I wasn't as afraid of the baby betas as I used to be -- enough to be wary of them, definitely, but not to worry about being assaulted by them. I knew if they did, they would have both Scott and their surrogate father to answer to.

"Would that make you our surrogate mother?" Isaac mocked.

"Come on, Isaac," Erica chided in her sweet voice, "let's not conform to gender roles here." She turned a quirked eyebrow and smirk to me. "I have no problem with having _two_ Daddy's."

Behind her, Boyd snorted.

I started to get seriously annoyed, and a little uncomfortable from the way Erica said "Daddy's." It sounded weirdly suggestive. I shook my head and went ahead down the aisle toward my jeep. Erica caught my arm.

"Okay, wait," she said. "Sorry. We really did have something to say to you, alright?"

Now I was weirded out, but okay. Erica let go of me. None of them said anything for a minute, their amused looks falling from their faces.

"We're worried," Isaac said. "About him, we're all really worried."

I didn't have to ask who. I sighed, not understanding what that had to do with _me_.

"It's _because_ of you," Isaac insisted. "Everything feels a little off because you've been upset. We all feel it. But he does the most."

The protest I was forming died away into unimportance, and I said nothing, mulling this over. Scott had told me how the pack was inter-connected, experiencing echoes of the feelings of each other. He said that even the humans that hung around the pack, after long enough, slipped a little into this network. The humans couldn't feel the wolves, but the wolves could feel us.

I wasn't upset, though. A little bothered, yeah, and definitely ticked off (mostly at myself).

"But _why_?" Boyd piped up. "Did something happen?"

Sort of.  You could say that.

"Well, _what_ , numbnuts?" Erica growled. "We have to get you sorted out so that he can stop freaking out."

Freaking out? Even big bad alpha freaked out?

"When it comes to you," Isaac said before getting a petite, white elbow in the stomach. Hard, from the grunt that escaped his mouth.

I didn't understand. Why did everyone keep saying shit like that, like I actually _meant_ something to him?

"You _do_ ," Isaac replied. He guarded against a second elbow attack. "You're _pack_ ," he added, looking wide-eyed at Erica before glancing back to me. "Of course you matter."

What mattered was my magic. That was it. Beyond that, I was nothing; they knew it, I knew it, he knew it. And that was _fine._

"You're blind," Erica spat. "You need to get your shit sorted, or I'm gonna sort it _for_ you." With that, she turned on her pointed heels and strutted away. Her boys followed obediently after her, but not before Isaac shot me a sympathetic, earnest gaze.

I sighed. I shrugged. I got into my car and went home.

 

 

Those were low-level hitters compared to what came next. The boss battle. Lydia.

Two weeks before graduation, she confronted me on my way to English. I didn't even have the chance to choke out a greeting before her red-lacquered nails were digging into my arm and dragging me down the hall and into the girl's bathroom. She all by shoved me inside before following behind me and turning to close and lock the door.

I started to point out that I didn't have the right gadgets and gizmos to be allowed admittance to this particular room, but her wickedly green eyes narrowed at me. I shut up.

"What the _hell_ is your problem?" she opened with.

Well. There just weren't enough hours in the day to answer that question.

"Don't play dumb with me," she snapped, putting her hands on her hips.

It wasn't like I was _trying_ \--

Lydia cut me off with a hand. " _Save it_ , and tell me why you aren't _vying_ for my attention anymore."

What?

"You heard me. _Spill_."

But I had nothing to spill.

I watched as Lydia's mouth tightened and her eyes, if possible, narrowed even further. Then all at once, her entire body went slack. And she said, "Look at you," sort of fondly, sort of reverently.

I turned my head and gazed at my reflection in the mirror. Short hair. Pale skin. Moles everywhere. Nothing new.

"You're completely over me," she sighed.

I glanced back at her, surprised and knowing I shouldn't be. She'd noticed.

"Of course I _noticed_ ," she said with a roll of her eyes, and I nodded. Of course.

I frowned. Okay. So?

"So? _So_?" Lydia clucked her tongue and settled her lipsticked mouth into a sly smile. "It's _him_ , isn't it?"

I wanted desperately to say something to combat that, or to express how sick I was of those assumptions, people wielding it at me like an accusation. But I couldn't, not to Lydia. So I folded in on myself, became my own safety blanket, and stared at the wet tiled floor.

"Oh," she said gently, tacking on my name with a sigh and a small hand on my shoulder. For a second, I thought she was going to hug me. She didn't.

She said, "You have to get him." She said, "You have to make him yours."

Yeah. _Right_. What a grand idea. I would get right on that.

She shoved hard at my shoulder, a little playfulness mixing in with a lot of frustration. "Don't give up before you've even started."

But didn't she know, that that was my approach to this kind of thing? Shouldn't she, of all people, know that?

She said, "It's different and you know it."

Which was true.

Which was the problem.

"I'll spare you a lecture on love and all that bullshit -- because that's what it is, in the end, just bullshit -- and tell you that you _have_ to try. You have to."

I was not wrapping my head around this conversation, but most of all the big question: _Why_?

"Because you're flipping out about him. You never did that when it came to me."

And apparently completely losing your shit for no reason was a _good_ sign.

"Yes! It is! God,  you are so thick."

Name-calling wasn't helping.

"It makes me feel better. Whatever, look, the point is you are totally nuts about him and it is _obvious_ and you should just talk to him."

But I didn't want to. I was perfectly content with how things stood, no matter how embarrassing they were, thank you very much.

"You're an idiot."

Still not helping.

"What is there to _lose_?"

Besides my dignity? Any respect he _may_ have for me? The ability to show my face anywhere outside of two feet from my door for the rest of my life?

"Exactly! Nothing." She irritatedly flipped strands of her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder.

"Go talk to him," she commanded with a pinning glare. Then she swiveled gracefully about, unlocked the bathroom door, and left.

So much for _quietly and privately_ falling in love.

 

xxx

 

Lydia's ambush, added with my other lectures, were probably the kick in the ass I needed. Mostly just because I wanted to get everyone off of my back, but still. Motivation is motivation.

I started contemplating how I should go about do it. Talking isn't exactly one of my strong suits. I could get a gold medal in babbling and spouting random trivia. But having Serious Talks? I wouldn't even place.

With all my planning and practiced speeches in the mirror, it happened the way most things do when it comes to me: spontaneously and by total accident.

It was the night before graduation. School had ended for seniors the previous week, leaving the pack a lot of time to hang out. I made myself scarce from the wolfy scene, instead bumming around the house and taking visitors (mostly just Scott) as they came. They all asked why I wasn't with them, where they were. I told them, I couldn't always be, could I?

It was something like one or two in the morning, and I was sitting on the porch, taking in the warm air and the cicadas and the bright, bright moon. My last night as a high school student. Bizarre. Overwhelming.

I took in a breath, let it out, feeling a little like I was in a movie, having such a melodramatic moment alone outside. That thought made me laugh and start quoting lines from Clark Gable movies to myself.

I was so busy being Philip Sutherland that I almost didn't hear the soft rustling in the bushes. Training actually did me good, though, and I fell silent right away, listening. I didn't have anything with me but my fists, and those were practically useless.

The sound came again. I resisted the urge to demand who was there, instead standing up in slow increments, about to make a run for the door. Just as I got a grip on the porch railing to pull myself all the way up, out he stepped to stand at the foot of the stairs.

My heart jumped into my throat.

The first thing he said was, "Sorry."

If I wasn't already at a loss for words, this certainly would have caused it. Neither of us moved or said another word for a long moment. Then, realizing I was still half-sitting, half-standing, I made a decision and sat back down. I stared up at him, still standing there with his hands stuffed into his leather jacket pockets. This was an invitation.

He flicked his eyes out behind him, as if he wanted to turn and go.

He stayed. He sat down beside me.

After another long pause filled only with the chirping song of the cicadas in the trees, he said, "Um."

I nodded. Yeah.

He rubbed the back of his neck. I pulled at a loose thread on my sweater.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pivot to face me. I mirrored him, sitting a little straighter. I swallowed and noticed his disheveled hair and the darkness of his eyes and the leaf on his shoulder. Cataloguing.

My body moved and I grasped the leaf and discarded it. My eyes widened. I glanced up at him. He looked between me and the hand that still hovered over his shoulder.

I started to retract.

Ten calloused fingers closed around my five thin ones. A thumb traced over the fragile knuckles there. The sound of a sucked in breath and the sound of one being released in the same instance.

I looked at him in the flickering porch light and _saw him_. And I think he saw me, too.

And he said, "Stiles."

So I said, "Derek."

Something quiet. Something private.

And that's all there was to that.

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired after i read "Endou-kun no Kansatsu Nikki," which is a really great manga that i recommend everyone read.
> 
> i like stiles falling for derek and being totally sure of himself. but there are different kinds of love, right? different ways to experience it.
> 
> i might do a sequel of this from derek's POV. who knows. we'll see.


End file.
